


I Wanna Hold Your Hand

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Real Person Fiction, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: Four times Ian and Nina hold hands.





	I Wanna Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Every story I wrote about NIan was written between December 2010 and January 2014. These are old and hold no bearing on how things actually were, are, or will be. I know Ian is married now, and I am not trying to be disrespectful. For all these years, I kept these stories locked on LiveJournal and protected, and it just occurred to me that these are just stories, and these are as much characters as any of the other fanfic I've ever written. It also represents a lot of my creative time and energy and I'm proud of these stories. So I'm posting them now, with the intent that others might enjoy them.

The first time he holds her hand, they're at Comic Con. He doesn't do it where anyone can see them, it's after, when they're walking back to the hotel and the cameras have all gone away, and the dark night is lit up with city lights.  
  
It's cute because they've already kissed, and Nina figures they're going to become official at least to each other over these few days together in L.A., but it's sweet the way he snags her fingers between his.  
  
She squeezes his hand and he looks over at her, smiling just a little with his lips. His eyes blaze with promises, and excitement, and every crazy thing that has her stomach in knots. She hasn't had a decent meal in three days because she can't eat.  
  
This is what happens to her when she falls in love.  
  
  


  
  
  
At work, they don't touch—like that. Ian touches her, and everyone, all the time. In fact she's made him a bet that he's lost three times now about talking to anyone (particularly a female) without touching them.  
  
He's had to pay her three installments of twenty dollars. (So she bought this funky silver necklace that he promptly started stealing on a regular basis.)  
  
"Babe, I love this ring," he says, as he looks through her jewelry box in her trailer. He holds up her black onyx, which is currently on the first knuckle of his pinkie finger. "It's kinda mannish, don't you think? Too bad you have toothpick fingers, otherwise I'd totally borrow it."  
  
The next time he loses a bet, she goes back to the jewelry store in downtown Atlanta where she got the ring, and finds one in his size.  
  


  
  
  
  
When she gives it to him, his eyes go wide and he deadpans, "Are you asking me to be your guy?"  
  
She pushes her hand against his shoulder and mutters, "Shut up, you jerk."   
  
He tackles her, wrestling her onto her back on the bed in the center of his bedroom. Once he's wedged his hips between her legs and they are both breathless with laughter, he says, "Put it on me, make it official."  
  
So she snatches the ring from his hand and makes him hold out his fingers. He's laying on top of her and he's turned on, so she's a little distracted as she does it, but her laughter blows out like a candle as the ring slides down his middle finger. She knows he meant it as a joke, but suddenly it feels real—like a very important moment in their relationship, and she realizes he was teasing her, but he's curious.   
  
He has to be, not because she's not affectionate and obvious in her feelings when they're alone together, but because she hasn't told anyone, not even her mother. (He's ten years older than her, and there's bound to be some frowns and disapproval from a few of the people in her life. Call her crazy, but she doesn't want to have to defend something that makes her unbelievably happy, so she's been avoiding it.)  
  
She presses her lips to the ring once it's in place. "Do you want to go to Mexico with my family for Christmas?" She doesn't plan it, it just falls out of her mouth, and his eyes jump from his hand to her face.  
  
"What will mom and dad think of that?" he muses, watching her carefully.  
  
She shrugs. "They'll think it's pretty serious that I want to bring a guy on our Christmas vacation."  
  
He leans down, drags his lips over the corner of her mouth, flicks his tongue out along the edge of her jaw. "That does seem pretty serious," he whispers against her skin, causing her to shiver.  
  
She lifts her hips up into his and her toes curl when he takes a sharp breath. "I think we're wearing too many clothes," she murmurs.  
  
"Always," he says, grinning as he kisses her full on the mouth.  
  


  
  
  
  
"This will be the longest we've been apart—ever," she says, chewing on her bottom lip.   
  
He rubs a hand along her the curve of her spine. "I know, but it's not even a full two weeks. And you'll be so busy, you'll hardly even miss me."  
  
She looks over at him. They're both lounging in a state of undress on the bed in a New York hotel room even though they should be packing. "I'll miss you, like crazy," she says and tears sting her eyes. She thinks she's totally becoming co-dependent and it frightens her. They just made love because they realized they only have six more hours together.  
  
"Not as much as I'll miss you," he says, his hand slipping up to cup her breast and strum one of her nipples. "But think how amazing the sex will be when we see each other again. We'll be starved. It will be awesome."  
  
She elbows him in the ribs and he grunts loudly. "What?" he asks, offended. "I'm just looking on the bright side."  
  
She scoffs, and then grows serious. "Do you think it's weird that we never get tired of each other?" she asks. She's never been with anyone before that she didn't want a break from, and now the idea of twelve days apart makes her ache to her bones.  
  
"No," he says, his fingers catching her chin to bring her face to his. "It's called being in love, Nina. That's how it should be." He brushes his lips over hers. "Besides, after that, there's Upfronts, and then Paris. It's going to be so awesome. So much to see, the best pastries in the world—goat cheese! God, I can't wait." He pulls back from her and chucks her under the chin. "It's not that we  _can't_  live without each other. It's that we don't want to. There's a difference, babe."  
  
She slides her arms around his neck and buries her face against his shoulder. "I know, you're right." His arms surround her, hugging her tightly to his chest. "Sometimes, I just love you so much, it scares me."  
  
He laughs, a little tremble against her heart. "Only sometimes?"   
  
She bites his collarbone, and before she can inform him of what an insensitive jerk he is, he's flipped her onto her back. She gasps as he guides an arm under one of her knees, opening her up for him. She's still dewy from the last round, but he gets all the way inside before either of them think about a condom. Nina arches into him and he swears, and they both reach towards the beside table in unison.  
  
The movement rocks their hips together a little more than either of them intends and Nina gasps around a moan. It's sudden and sharp, the need, and when it's like this it always surprises her. It's not like she didn't just have him an hour ago, but it hits her suddenly, how much she  _wants_  him, and how her body has grown so used to his, to his weight and his cadence.  
  
His mouth finds hers and he kisses her with the same urgency that races through her veins. They don't do it often without "double bagging" as Ian calls it (she's on the Pill, and they use condoms, almost every time), but she knows they aren't going to be reasonable here. So she turns her hand over, laces their fingers, and drags his arm back so that it's on the bed next to her head.  
  
When he comes, his hand clenches around hers in a pulsing rhythm that matches the shockwaves radiating throughout her body.   
  


  
  
  
On a Paris street, he reaches for her hand without a thought. Now it's just what they do, it's who they are. Her palm slides against his, and in the middle of a moderately sunny day, with her mother a few steps behind them and his mother window shopping half a block up, she doesn't worry if anyone sees.  
  
It's been almost a year since the first time. She figures there will be days and months and years more of it, and what does it matter if the whole world knows?  
  
All that matters is she's happier than she's ever been, and things are good.   
  
She can't hide it, and she doesn't want to.


End file.
